


quiet.

by kiyala



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Fluff, Lazy Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a quiet day off, Q accidentally says more than he means to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> For the [cottoncandy bingo](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) prompt "accident"

Bond sleeps in. He lies in bed with one leg hanging off the edge. The sheets are twisted around him and he doesn’t even notice because he lies absolutely still while he’s sleeping.

Q stands at the foot of the bed, mug of tea in his hands, and sighs. He finishes his earl grey, puts his mug down, and kneels on the bed. He likes kissing Bond awake. Likes feeling Bond wake up, the way Bond goes stock still for a moment, assessing his surroundings, before remember where he is, remembering that he’s safe. Q likes the way it feels when Bond relaxes, and starts kissing him back.

Q loves the days that he and Bond both have off just as much as he loves the nights that tend to precede them. They’re both languid and relaxed, with nothing demanding their attention. If they want to lie in, they can. Nothing stops Q from disentangling Bond from his bed sheets and then swallowing him down. Bond certainly doesn’t. Q sucks, feeling Bond grow harder, bigger, listening to his low sighs. Bond places a hand on his head and Q leans into the contact, humming in pleasure, listening to Bond moan at the vibration.

Bond tugs on his hair and it’s not the desperate, insisting tug from last night. This is just enough to send jolts of pleasure down Q’s spine, across his skin. Q loves sucking Bond’s cock because it’s proof that he knows Bond well. If Q wants to make Bond come fast, he can do that. If he wants to make Bond wait, taking him to the edge of release but not quite giving him that last push until he asks for it, he can do that too.

Q isn’t feeling particularly patient today so he lets Bond come, pulling away just belatedly enough to let it coat his lips. He sits up, licking his lips, bringing a finger up to catch any stray drops. Bond lets out a strangled groan, pulling Q back down and kissing him, licking him, sucking his lips until they’re clean, until they both taste like Bond.

“Morning,” Bond rumbles, and rolls Q onto his back to jack him off slowly, kissing down his neck and along his collarbone.

They shower together, kissing under the hot spray of water, both only half-hard after coming so recently. It means they get out of the shower before the water turns cold. Small mercies.

“What would you like to do?” Q asks, the way he always does, as if either of them are remotely interested in anything or anyone outside the walls of this flat.

Bond hums non-committally which usually means _nothing_ , which is usually what they end up doing. Bond lies on the couch with a book with Q lying on top of him, coding on his tablet. Bond asks Q what he’s working on, not because he’ll understand, but because he knows that Q likes to think aloud. It helps Q work past one particular problem that had been halting his progress, and he gets to work on it immediately, putting his tablet down once he’s done.

Q kisses Bond, who has already put his book down, anticipating it. Q likes that; he likes the way they’ve come to predict each other like this. It wasn’t all that long ago that Q had thought he could never quite come to understand how Bond’s mind worked. He remembers how frustrating it had been, trying to work it out. Even now, they both have their secrets and their surprises. Q wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you,” he whispers, not even thinking about it until the words have left his mouth. He freezes up. Bond’s expression doesn’t change.

“Oh.” Q’s voice is quiet as he sits up, moving to the other side of the sofa. He wants to kick himself. He wants to look _away_ from Bond, avert his eyes, hide his face forever. He can’t bring himself to. “Oh god. I’m sorry.”

“Did you mean it?” Bond asks, quiet and calm. His expression remains frustratingly blank.

“Yes,” Q’s traitor mouth says. His heart sinks further.

“Then you don’t need to apologise, do you?” Bond murmurs, sitting up. He moves closer to Q’s side of the couch, takes his face in both hands, and kisses him deeply.

Bond doesn’t say he loves Q in return, but Q hadn’t expected that. What Q doesn’t expect, however, is just how welcome, how _wanted_ he feels anyway.

And maybe he doesn’t need to hear it back. Q _does_ love Bond. Q has had his share of heartbreak but he knows that it’s nothing like what Bond has experienced. Bond is careful with his heart. Perhaps he’ll love Q eventually. Perhaps he won’t.

It doesn’t matter. They’re both here, Bond’s arms around Q; Q’s head on Bond’s chest.

Q loves him. That’s enough.


End file.
